Scare
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Gibbs and Jenny have a common little scare. Jibbs. Pre-series; Paris. Halloween-ish; because it mentions October.


_A/N: to channel Lady Gaga: Happy Halloween, little monsters. _

* * *

><p>"Jethro."<p>

He had to admit, it took a fair amount of talent for her speak that clearly—and with that much lack of interest—through the kiss he was currently giving her.

"Jethro," she said again.

This time with even _less_ interest or enthusiasm.

Wait. _Why_ did she sound so bored? He rolled his eyes and broke the kiss, giving her one of his _looks_.

"What?" he asked.

"Do we have to have sex tonight?" she asked bluntly, blinking at him with guarded green eyes.

He stared at her, unsure how to properly answer that question. Sex should be mandatory every night. Except if he said yes, that might sound a little bit like he was going to force himself on her. And he wouldn't ever do that.

So, essentially, he was trapped into answering with a begrudging:

"No," and he left it at that, glaring at her just a little bit.

She could have mentioned that _before_ he assumed that the kissing and rolling around in bed would inevitably lead to sex.

"Will you get off of me, then?" she asked politely. "You're heavy."

Leroy Jethro Gibbs complied. Depressed and rejected, he threw himself onto his back next to her, putting a hand behind his head. She didn't say anything else, so he lay next to her silently, staring at the gaudy gold ceiling of the Paris hotel room.

"Do you have a headache?" he ventured sarcastically, thinking darkly of the go-to excuse women kept up their sleeves for denying sex.

It was either headaches, or that it was "their time of the month", but he knew it wasn't that. He happened to know for a fact that _her time of the month_ did not deter Jenny at all.

She laughed a little.

"No," she answered.

He stared at the ceiling a moment longer and then looked over at her. He frowned, his brow knitting together darkly. She looked distracted, and a little confused. And maybe a little bit scared.

"Jen?" he asked, changing his tune a little. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said under her breath.

"Don't do that," he growled.

She turned her head and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't do what?" she asked shortly.

"That. That _thing _women do. When you want me to ask what's wrong, and then I do, and then you suddenly don't want to talk."

She stared at him and then scoffed, turning her head away. She looked at the ceiling again.

"Get over yourself, Jethro, I'm not one of your wives," she retorted snarkily. "I am not playing a game with you."

He glared at her profile and then he resumed staring at the ceiling as well.

"Then why can't we have sex?" he asked after a moment, annoyance slipping back into his tone.

"Well," she began crisply, hesitating. "I believe we've been doing too much of that lately."

"We haven't had sex in forty-nine hours," he whined.

"Thank you for proving my point by keeping track in hours."

He looked at her, nettled this time. Her voice still sounded dull. She was upset about something. She really _wasn't_ messing around with him. He shifted and nudged her leg with his knee.

"Come on, Jen," he coaxed.

She sighed.

"I think," she began thoughtfully. "I might be pregnant."

Gibbs stared at her, back to being silent. He was quiet for a long time.

"Is this an April Fool's joke?" he growled.

"Jethro. It's October."

"Is it a trick?" he asked.

"Jethro," she said, her voice softening. She looked at him, not quite so guarded anymore. "I'm not trying to be funny."

He swallowed. He turned to his side and propped his head up, his mouth turning down a little at the corners.

"How positive is 'think' and 'might'?" he asked neutrally, all thoughts of sex gone—sort of—from his mind.

"My period is six days late," she said.

He stared at her. He wasn't an expert, but he thought that was kind of a lot. He thought it was about day _three_ that women started flipping their lids over a late period. So he was kind of annoyed as to why he was just hearing about this.

"Jenny," he said, exasperated. He rolled onto his back again and rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed. "You should have told me."

She put a hand in the air and dropped it back down.

"You mean when I was two days late? Or an _hour_ late? Jesus, Jethro, I wanted to be sure I thought I might be before I hit you with the news."

"Why not just wait until you'd taken a test?" he asked sarcastically.

She didn't answer.

"You," he paused. "Have you taken one?" he asked, looking over at her sharply.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No," she said again. "I was just," she trailed off, looking frustrated. She put a hand over her face, and sat up, pushing her nose into her knees.

"You were what?" he prompted.

"I was just waiting around," she snapped. "Ignoring the possibility."

He looked at her hunched shoulders and frowned, sitting up slowly. He gave her bowed head an apprehensive look. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be faced with this. They were in the middle of an undercover mission in _Europe_. It wasn't _exactly_ the opportune moment.

Gibbs sat up and bit his thumb. He reached out and rested his palm on her lower back.

"Don't think you can ignore it, Jen," he said gruffly.

He ran his hand through her hair and leaned forward to kiss her shoulder, feeling a little tense and in-denial himself. He frowned, resting his forehead against her shoulder, and then got up, walking to the closet.

He grabbed his jacket.

"Where are you going?" she asked suspiciously, sitting up.

"Buying you a test," he answered bluntly.

"No," she responded automatically. "Jethro," she hissed. "Don't."

He shoved his arms into the jacket, looking at her skeptically.

"You just want to wait nine months and see what happens?" he asked.

"Funny," she said tartly. She continued, coming out with a completely irrational statement: "Ducky could see you."

Gibbs glared at her.

"Jen, you really think Ducky is in the lobby monitoring our behavior?"

She looked like she felt stupid for saying such a thing. She gave a frustrated groan and put her head in her hands.

"What would Ducky _think_?" she asked hoarsely.

"He'd think we've been having sex," Gibbs pointed out bluntly. "What do you want me to get?" he asked, zipping the jacket. He checked his wallet for francs, and his credit card.

She stared at him.

"What kind?" he clarified.

"I don't know," she answered blankly, turning pale. "I've never done this!"

"You've _never_ had a scare?" he asked skeptically.

"No," she said indignantly. "Have _you_?"

Her tone was condescending. He didn't answer. He just looked at her for a moment. No; he hadn't had any scares. But he'd gone through a couple of tests with Shannon before they got the right answer.

He continued not to answer her, and walked to the door.

"Jethro," she said, frustrated. He turned around and she was clutching her hair, looking at him in annoyance. "Ducky would think we're having an affair."

He stared at her. This must have her really stressed out. She was talking nonsense. He rolled his eyes and opened the door.

"Jen," he muttered seriously. "We _are_ having an affair."

* * *

><p>"Here," he said, handing her the box as he shut the door. "There's three stick thingies in there."<p>

Jenny stood up from the armchair she had curled up in. She bit her pinky nail and read the French written all over the test's box.

"How do you know it's accurate?" she asked.

"We'll find out in nine months, won't we?" he asked, giving her a look. He pointed towards the bathroom. "Go. Pee."

"I don't have to," she said. Jenny stood awkwardly in front of him, looking much more uncertain than he'd ever seen her look in a shoot-out or interrogation or even a courtroom. "I don't want to."

"Jenny, take the damn test."

"What if I'm pregnant, Jethro?"

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Then Ducky will think you're having a baby."

She punched him in the shoulder. Hard. He glared at her, rubbing the spot.

"Take the test," he growled at her, pointing sharply towards the bathroom again. "Now."

* * *

><p>She washed her hands methodically, dried them, and turned around, sliding down to sit on the floor opposite him. She rested her palms on drawn up knees and leaned her head back, her back as straight as a board.<p>

"How can you be so flippant about this?" she asked hoarsely.

He shrugged, his hands thrown lazily over his knees.

"What do you want me to do, Jen?" he asked seriously. "Yell at you? Nothin' to panic about yet."

She tilted her head back.

"Ugh," she sighed thickly. "I know. I know, but," she bit her lip, shaking her head. "What would we do?"

He looked at her, his eyes narrow, scrutinizing her.

"Cross that bridge when we get there," he said.

She frowned.

"I can't," she said. She reached up and touched her forehead heavily. "I guess I could get and abortion, but I don't know if I—" she choked, and he talked over her, interrupting:

"Jen, we'll talk about it if it happens," he said shortly, ending that train of thought.

She was only working herself up about an uncertainty, and he didn't want to hear her talk about _that_ much less have to face her deciding in favor of _that_. Jenny blinked at him, nodding shakily. She understood. She didn't want to talk about it either.

"I can't have a baby right now," she snapped to herself.

"You use birth control," he said defensively, glaring at her. "What happened?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "Yeah, but, well—you didn't use a condom that night in Sarajevo."

"You're on the pill!"

"I told you my antibiotics would have it on the fritz," she warned sharply. "It doesn't matter," she amended quickly, deflecting an argument. "That was only two weeks ago. If I'm pregnant, it's," she chewed on her lip. "It's got to be closer to six weeks."

He grunted.

"Don't you think some doctor in Prague would have caught it?" he asked. "After all the blood transfusions in the Czech Republic?"

She opened her mouth, pausing.

"Yes," she said. "No. I don't know. Maybe the antibiotics screwed up my cycle. How many more minutes?" she asked tensely.

"About one and a half," Gibbs answered gruffly. "It's okay, Jen."

"It's not okay," she said, her voice brittle.

She pushed her hands through her hair and stood up. He stood up after her, quickly, watching her pace back in forth in the cramped hotel bathroom.

"Calm down," he said.

"_Stop_ telling me to relax," she snapped, giving him a dangerous look. "This is a terrible feeling, Jethro, and you're never going to understand what it feels like."

He pointed at himself.

"You didn't _get yourself_ pregnant, Jenny," he said loudly and pointedly, his jaw hardening. "Isn't just _your_ problem."

She stared at him, one arm wrapped around her stomach.

"I am scared," she hissed.

"I know," he said over her.

"I don't want those sticks to say I'm pregnant. Do you feel anything, Jethro?" she glared at him, putting her hands on her hips. "Are you scared?"

He walked forward, reaching out for her waist.

He shook his head.

"Nah," he said gruffly. "Nothin' we can do about it right now, Jen," he said seriously. "It'll be fine."

"Oh," she scoffed, throwing hand out to the side. "You _want_ to have a baby? You'd just be _fine_ with that?"

He grabbed her flailing hand.

"No," he said tersely. He wasn't at all prepared to face what having a baby with Jenny would mean, and he knew that. "But it doesn't change—it doesn't matter. I'm not gonna run off if you're pregnant."

She pulled her hands towards her chest and rubbed them together, comforting herself. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly, nodding.

"Okay," she said, pushing hair behind her ears.

"Is that all you wanted to hear?" he asked, giving her an annoyed look. "You think I'd hit the road?" he swore under his breath and glared at her, turning sharply to the sink to look at the three pregnancy tests she'd laid in a neat row.

He picked one up and looked at it.

"Wait," she snapped tensely. He ignored her.

"You're clear," he said gruffly, sweeping two tests into the trash and handing her the other one. He tapped the little screen. "You're not pregnant, Jen. You're just late."

She stared at the pregnancy test and then closed her eyes thankfully, nodding. She threw it away and tilted her head back, a smile slowly spreading over her features. The colour came back into her cheeks a little.

Gibbs was relieved. She didn't look so damn neurotic anymore.

Her green eyes flew open and she moved closer to him for a kiss, her soft-but-strong petite hands splaying warmly on his neck, feeling his pulse. Gibbs cupped the nape of her neck in his hand, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist smugly. It was a nice, dramatic cinema-style kiss in the very un-romantic setting of hotel bathroom.

He could feel how erratically her heart was beating. She let out a heavy breath, biting her lower lip as she breathed in close to his mouth. He tangled his hand in her hair, tugging her head back.

"Just a scare, Jen," he muttered, kissing her throat. "We can have sex now," he added, smirking. He kissed her jaw, and the corner of her mouth, trying to coax her into the mood.

She snorted matter-of-factly and gave him a look, parting her lips.

"Just a scare," she mocked, huffing. She opened a drawer in the bathroom, plucked something out, and slapped it against his chest. "We can have sex now," she agreed her palm warm through his t-shirt. "You're wearing condom."

She let go and he reached up to catch the little square she'd shoved at him, giving it a distasteful, irritated look. He turned, glaring, and followed her, protest in his eyes. She sat down on the bed and slipped her sweats off, leaning back in her t-shirt and red panties.

"You're always wearing condom from now on," she said bluntly.

He threw it at her stomach, towering over her with a dark look.

"_That's_ scary," he snapped, repulsed by the idea. He lowered his voice. "You won't like it," he said huskily.

She plucked the condom up between two fingers and gave him a look through her lashes, puckering her lips. She clearly thought she was going to change his mind. He was convinced it was impossible for her to scare or bribe him into using one until she said—

"Jethro, I can put one of these on with my mouth."

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><p><em>This is legitimately the scariest thing I can imagine, bahah. I would rather have to kill ten spiders than end up pregnant; yikes. :)<em>

_Alexandra_


End file.
